


From Your Head to Your Toes

by slytheringheights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drinking Games, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Last Night At Hogwarts, Morning Sex, Never Have I Ever, Oral Sex, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, Smut, Spin the Bottle, the war probably didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 07:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21316285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytheringheights/pseuds/slytheringheights
Summary: It's the last night at Hogwarts before Hermione, Draco, and the gang have to enter the real world. A party in the Hufflepuff common room is exactly what's needed to break down old rivalries.“You’re up, Hermione.”She inhaled, took a swig of her drink, and exhaled as she picked up the bottle. As she walked to the center of the circle, she wondered who she would most want the bottle to land on. And who she would most want the bottle NOT to land on. She scanned the circle. She wouldn’t mind a harmless makeout, maybe some innocent caressing. God knows she was past due. Before bending down to spin, her eyes met a pair of grey eyes.Anyone except Malfoy.***UPDATED: formerly a smutty little one-shot and now a love story in three parts.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Luna Lovegood, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter, Susan Bones/Ron Weasley
Comments: 196
Kudos: 1527





	1. 7 Minutes in Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all the encouragement of the last fic. You inspired me to post another that I have had drafted for a while. I appreciate you all!

Word of the party starting in the Hufflepuff common room spread through the hallways as the last exams let out for the year. Hermione Granger, torn between feeling relieved to be done with her final exams of her final year at Hogwarts, and sad that her time at the school was coming to a close, thought that a celebratory distraction would ease her mind. No time to change out of her school robes before following a group of rowdy Hufflepuffs hiding handles of fire whiskey under their cloaks, Hermione caught up with a mixed crowd of students from every house in Hogwarts, even Slytherin.

The gaggle of students entered the Hufflepuff common room and Hermione immediately heard the throbbing bass pound through the room. Looking around at the well-stocked supply of alcohol, Hermione smiled to herself as she realized that mild-mannered Hufflepuff might be anything but.

Draco Malfoy entered the ‘Puff Party and made a beeline to the makeshift bar set up next to the fireplace and poured himself a healthy glass of fire whiskey.

“Pass the bottle would you?”

Draco lifted the bottle and turned to his side to hand over the liquor. He jerked the bottle back for a moment.

“Didn’t take you for a whiskey girl, Granger,” said, as always, with the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Well I’d rather you not take me for anything. The bottle, Malfoy,” Hermione said, with her hand outstretched expectantly.

Draco handed the bottle over and leaned back against the table to look out on the crowd as he leisurely sipped his drink.

Hermione poured herself a glass, and realizing that the room had filled up as quickly as it took for her to secure a beverage, leaned against the wall a few inches away to scan the crowd for a familiar face. She placed her lips to the cool glass and tipped the cup slowly to take in a needed swig of the golden liquid. She felt the burn on her tongue and held it there for a few moments, relishing the first taste before swallowing. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. She needed that.

“Where’s your entourage, Granger?”

She opened her eyes, as if coming out of a trance, and tilted her head upright. As her head turned, her eyes clouded with annoyance.

“I’m not their keeper, Malfoy. And where’s yours? Was the intellectual stimulation of their company finally too much for you?”

Despite himself, Malfoy snorted at the mention of Crabbe and Goyle in the same sentence as the word “intellectual.” With a lingering smile on his lips, he bent to pour himself another glass and strolled by Hermione as he crossed to the other side of the room where a group of Slytherin housemates stood chatting. She eyed him with curiosity as he walked past, noting that his smile lacked its usual malice. She watched him join the group of Slytherins and clink glasses with his housemates. Truly unfortunate that such a drool-worthy body belonged to such a prick.

Her eyes turned back to the crowd. She wasn’t sure if Harry or Ron would come to the party. They each had rather serious girlfriends, whom she imagined they would spend much of their time with that evening, basking in the exhilaration of the end of exams. She was happy for her friends of course, but it had been a while—too long—since she had regular, let alone satisfying, sex. She allowed herself to feel a little jealous.

“Hermione, hey! God I’m so glad to be done with exams,” Neville Longbottom said as he gave her a brief hug hello and turned to the drink table. “Gee, I don’t think they got enough fire whiskey,” Neville smiled as he examined the ample options in front of him.

Grateful to have a friend to socialize with, Hermione and Neville reflected on exams, the school year, and with a touch of sadness and nostalgia, the end of their time at Hogwarts. They were about to head into the wizarding world and figure out their place beyond Hogwarts. There would be no sorting hat around to tell them where they belonged.

Soon, Luna and Ginny joined and Neville’s cocktails became stronger each refill, with the music moving their bodies to its beat. In the back of Hermione’s mind, she knew this might be the last night like this. She wanted to savor every moment.

From the other side of the room, a Hufflepuff prefect, clearly considering his official duties done for the year, walked to the center of the room with an empty fire whiskey bottle. The music died away and the Hufflepuff held the bottle above his head and began projecting his voice to the large crowd.

“It’s that time of the evening, Hogwarts! Gather round for a Hufflepuff house favorite: Seven Minutes in Heaven!”

“Of course we find out the last night at Hogwarts that Hufflepuff is full of a bunch of freaks,” Neville chuckled into his mixed drink.

A large circle began forming around the center of the room as Hermione dipped back to the drink table to refill her glass one more time. “I’m definitely going to need a drink for this,” she muttered to herself as she poured a double.

“Pass the bottle when you’re done, Granger.”

Hermione looked up. “In need of some liquid courage, Malfoy?”

“Like you?” He gestured to her full glass.

“Maybe…” she admitted under her breath. She was buzzed enough that pretending otherwise would have taken too much effort.

He smirked. “Yeah…maybe me too.” He found it difficult to respond to her simple honesty with anything other than the truth. He poured himself a drink and returned to the circle in the middle of the room.

Hermione, caught a bit off guard by Malfoy’s uncharacteristic display of vulnerability, took a place next to her friends as the Hufflepuff prefect explained the rules to those gathered.

“It’s simple: when it’s your turn, spin the bottle. When the bottle stops, you and the person chosen by the bottle go into that closet—” he gestured to his left where a door Hermione hadn’t noticed before suddenly appeared as if conjured specifically for this purpose. “—and you stay in there for seven minutes. The countdown begins when you start kissing. Oh and the door is locked until the timer is up, so no cheating.”

He passed the bottle to the Slytherin sitting to his left. “We’ll go clockwise. Blaise, you’re up.”

The air in the room stood still as many girls held in their breath, hoping for the chance to spend 7 minutes in a dark closet with one of the sexiest men at Hogwarts. Blaise Zabini set the bottle down and spun with a flick of his wrist. The feeling of anticipation in the circle was its own kind of intoxicant. The bottle slowed as it neared Hermione, but stopped just short.

Ginny inhaled deeply, looking at the nose of the bottle pointed directly at her. She glanced at Hermione, who wiggled her eyebrows and gave her a look of encouragement as Ginny rose to join Blaise in the closet. The door closed behind them and the lock clicked audibly.

The music blared back on, a beat that was impossible not to dance to. As the circle danced, the minutes ticked away. Suddenly the music stopped and everyone remembered why they were standing around in the first place. The door clicked open and Blaise and Ginny exited the closet, flushed. Ginny took her place next to Hermione, avoiding her inquisitive stare.

“The rumors about Blaise were…correct,” she said simply. Hermione smiled and decided not to press further. She could do that tomorrow.

Blaise passed the bottle to his left. Neville took the bottle and entered the middle of the circle to spin. As the bottle slowed, the tension in the room thickened. Slowly the bottle came to a stop on…

“Luna,” Neville nearly whispered. Luna looked up, calm and…determined? With eyes focused only on Neville, she stood and walked assuredly up to Neville, clasping his hand and leading him to the closet. As the door closed, Hermione and Ginny immediately began snickering. This had been a long time coming.

“Of course it had to be something like this to finally make that happen!” Ginny’s cheeks were returning to a normal state as the music pounded back on. Blaise closed the distance between him and Ginny and they started dancing together, looking at each other as if there was no one else in the room. With Neville and Luna otherwise engaged, Hermione took the opportunity to refill her glass and people watch as the minutes ticked down. When seven minutes passed, the music predictably faded and the closet opened. Neville and Luna exited, hands clasped together with sheepish grins on their faces. Instead of returning to the circle, they crossed to a private alcove on the other side of the common room. Everyone else reclaimed their spots in the circle, ready for the next turn.

“You’re up, Hermione.”

She inhaled, took a swig of her drink, and exhaled as she picked up the bottle. As she walked to the center of the circle, she wondered who she would most want the bottle to land on. And who she would most want the bottle NOT to land on. She scanned the circle. She wouldn’t mind a harmless makeout, maybe some innocent caressing. God knows she was past due. Before bending down to spin, her eyes met a pair of grey eyes. Anyone except Malfoy.

She gave the bottle a hard spin. As the bottle circled those gathered, she noted with some satisfaction that many faces in the crowd followed the bottle with hopeful eyes. Except one pair of grey eyes.

The bottle stopped. A collective gasp filled the room, as it dawned on everyone that this might be the most epic game of seven minutes in heaven in Hogwarts history. Hermione groaned and Draco felt his eyes roll back in his head. Could this really be happening?

Hermione walked past him without making eye contact and headed for the closet door. Draco reluctantly stood and followed her. As they both crossed the threshold, the door closed behind them with a deafening click.

The closet was, of course, not really a closet. Neville was right: these Hufflepuffs were freaks. It wasn’t a large room, but was large enough to fit a cot in the far corner, a few bookshelves filled with…not books. Feather quills, handcuffs…was that a whip? A countertop hovered beneath the shelves.

“I don’t know about you but my opinion of Hufflepuff has measurably improved this evening,” Draco said to cut the silence that had started to become suffocating. Hermione let a small smile pull at her lips.

“Well I suppose we need to get this over with or we’ll never be let out of here,” Hermione gestured to the curious surroundings.

“Ugh, fine,” Draco sighed as he walked towards her.

He hesitated briefly before she grabbed his tie to pull him to her lips. At first, they stood there, frozen in time as the tingle in their lips spread across their bodies. Moreso out of habit, he instinctively moved his hand to the nape of her neck and the other brushing the side of her waist before pulling her deeper into the embrace. As the kiss deepened, it began to dawn on him: if Hermione Granger is this good at snogging, what else is she good at?

Without thinking, Hermione melted into him, snaking her hand up his neck and into his silvery blonde hair. It wasn’t surprising that Draco Malfoy knew how to snog a witch in a dark alcove—the rumors were inescapable. What was surprising was how her body felt immediately responsive to his touch. As if every caress of his hand was pushing a hidden arousal button on her. She felt wet heat begin to boil in her core as his fingers grazed the bare skin of her upper thigh, just below the hem of her skirt.

Her other hand naturally found its way to his abdomen, caressing upward toward his chest, feeling his muscles flex beneath the fabric. She thought, inconveniently in that moment, that it had been too long since she had felt the weight of a man on top of her. Malfoy’s lips were uncharacteristically gentle as his tongue tentatively nudged her lips open. Her tongue met his as he pulled her closer. He tasted sweet. Like fire whiskey.

He had lost all conscious thought as her tongue grazed his. Her hands slid down his torso and to his back where she pulled him closer. The only thing his brain could comprehend in that moment was: more. More of her skin, her lips, her quiet moans he was sure she didn’t even know she was making every time his finger brushed under the hem of her skirt. He reached down to the back of her thighs and lifted her up. He walked her to one of the counters hovering under the suggestive contents of the shelves.

She gasped briefly as he lifted her, but she didn’t break the connection of their mouths. Her legs wrapped around his midsection, holding him tighter to her. She felt the hard, cold surface of the counter beneath her skirt as he gently set her down, only mildly remembering that she still had her school-sanctioned skirt on.

He instinctively grazed his hands along the back of her bare thighs, slowly stroking her smooth skin upward until his hands found themselves at the lace undergarment covering her magnificently round bum.

Hermione moaned into his lips as she felt his fingers tuck under the lace of her undergarments and grip her backside with passion, _need_. She tilted her pelvis forward, eager to feel more of herself over more of him. She could feel him smile against her mouth and she stifled a smile of her own. His naughty hands slowly moved over the sides of her hips, slowly working closer toward her inner thigh. She could feel what was coming and her heartbeat began to quicken. She felt more of her arousal pool between her legs with anticipation. His thumb continued inching forward along the lace edges of her undergarments. She clutched the hair just above the nape of his neck, needing to maintain some semblance of control.

_Fuck,_ he thought. _I could stay in this closet all night. _His thumb grazed her inner thigh and she moaned, deeply. He was already impossibly hard but her sounds nonetheless shot straight through his cock. Staying a moment before making his next move, he noted that one of her hands was well-entangled in his hair and the other was clutching his dress shirt in a death grip. His thumb caressed upward, finding the cotton patch between her legs. With satisfaction, his thumb brushed over the wet cotton, getting undeniable confirmation that he was doing to her exactly what she was doing to him.

She heard herself let out the most embarrassing, needy whimper as his hand caressed her center. He must know what he was doing to her. At that moment, she could care less. This was the best makeout she’d had in months. Part of her wondered if he was enjoying himself as much as she was. She reached down, dipping her hand under his waist band. She smiled into him as she received confirmation.

He groaned audibly as she stroked his length in firm, sure grip._ Kissing was definitely not the only thing Hermione Granger was skilled at._

At that moment, the lights flew on and the door clicked open. Hermione and Draco parted, their eyes meeting for the first time in seven minutes. A little too slowly, recognition flashed across their eyes.

“Fuck,” they both said, as if coming out of daze. Hermione jumped down off the counter and straightened her skirt, collecting herself before returning to the crowd. Draco, a little slower, took a deep breath and adjusted himself, before turning on his heels to follow Granger out into the light.

The crowd stared at every movement they made as they exited the closet, eager to find clues of what had happened over the course of those seven minutes. As Hermione and Draco found their spaces again in the circle, and it became clear that both were determined to give nothing away, the crowd quickly turned its attentions to the next spinner.

Hermione found her glass of fire whiskey and quickly downed the remaining liquid. For a moment, it calmed her nerves as she willed herself to act normally, avoiding the grey eyes watching her every move. Draco kept his gaze trained on her, trying to ascertain how she felt about those seven minutes. Admittedly, it was a lot to unpack. She was mostly irritating, sometimes beautiful (in a certain light), and apparently knew her way around a cock. He’d take seven more minutes. At least.

She had needed a good snog, yes. But did it have to be with Malfoy? She shook her head slightly as she remembered his thumb caressing her, knowing she had enjoyed their tryst in the closet. She knew he knew it too.

She looked around, seeking distraction. Ginny and Blaise had found a corner of the common room where they continued what had started in the closet. Neville and Luna were gone. Hermione smiled to herself. _Finally_, she thought. Left with few options, Hermione decided to cut her losses for the evening and head back to Gryffindor tower. She made her way to the exit, when she felt a light touch on her arm.

She turned, not surprised to find Malfoy standing there with an indecipherable look on his face. She looked behind him, satisfied that the crowd was no longer paying attention to them, having turned their attentions to the next victims.

“Can I come with you?” He didn’t know what she would say, but he was desperate enough to ask anyway.

She stared at him for a moment, considering how much of a regrettable mistake this would be. Then, in the carefree spirit of the last night at Hogwarts, she nodded and motioned for him to follow her. She led the way out of the common room, leading him through the dark, empty hallways of the school. They walked silently, without touching, through the twisting corridors, the tension filling the space between them. She led him wordlessly up staircase upon staircase. They stopped abruptly before a portrait where she whispered a nonsensical password. The portrait swung open and he followed her inside.

The Gryffindor common room. He had always been curious, of course, but it was strange to finally lay eyes on the place. It was empty and dark, but a fire burned its late night embers in the corner of the room.

“Welcome to the lion’s den, Malfoy,” she couldn’t resist saying as they walked quietly up the stairs to her room. She opened the door and pulled him inside where a four-poster bed took up most of the space and gold and red fabric draped almost every inch of the room.

Draco stepped closer to her and absent mindedly placed a hand along her waist as he caressed her face. His touch quickly reigniting the heat he had built inside of her back in the Hufflepuff closet.

“What do you want,” he asked in a low growl.

She tipped her head upward, meeting his eyes. She reached her hand between them, caressing the front of his pants. “I want you to make me scream.”

His eyes widened at her directness. He smirked. “Cutting to the chase, I guess, Granger.”

“Look, Malfoy. It’s our last night at Hogwarts. And I am just speaking personally, but it has been too long since I’ve…you know…” she broke their eye contact briefly before continuing. “Let’s just say I want this as much as you do.”

“And what makes you think I want this at all, Granger.” She smirked as she grasped his arousal between them. “Just a hunch,” she whispered.

_Well she’s got me there_, he thought. _Pun intended_, he added to himself, groaning while she stroked him lightly through his pants.

His lips crashed onto hers as his arms reached down to grasp under her thighs to pick her up. She wrapped her legs around him, as they had in the closet. She reached her hand up to grasp his hair.

He threw her on the bed and climbed on top of her, laying the length of his body on hers. She sighed unevenly, relishing how his weight felt on top of her. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered as he brushed his lips along her neck and down her collarbone.

“I want the best you got,” she exhaled as she started to resent the clothes standing between them. She loosened his tie and removed it altogether before undoing each button on his shirt in rapid succession.

He ran his hand up her thigh, finding the lace hem that had toyed with him before. As soon as his thumb hooked underneath the lacey barrier, they both inhaled sharply, knowing exactly where this was heading. He grazed his hand over to the cotton center he’d found before in the closet. Soaking wet. He grinned.

As much as she hated his stupid smirk in any other context, she had to admit that his outsized confidence was not completely unearned in this situation. Well, so far anyway. Hermione had been in this position before—her body wrapped underneath a hot wizard, feeling the heat of his breath on her skin as they discarded clothing piece by piece. Then, inevitably, when they got to the main event, she would be left unsatisfied. Disappointingly few seemed aware the clitoris existed and too many inexplicably preferred the jack hammer method of thrusting. After he came, she’d excuse herself politely, returning to her room to find her own pleasure. Hermione knew what she wanted and she needed someone who could give it to her.

She pulled Draco’s head down to hers and pressed her lips to his. She deepened the kiss slowly, knowing she had his attention. With surprising strength, she hooked her legs around Malfoy’s waist and flipped their positions in one controlled movement. She pulled away from the kiss, looking down from her perch. She grinned as she caught the look on Malfoy’s face. She definitely saw desire flash across his grey eyes, but there was a tint of something else. Was it respect? Admiration?

“My room, my rules, Malfoy,” she said in a low, even tone. Hermione Granger was used to earning Outstanding scores on her exams. It was her last night as a Hogwarts student and she wasn’t going to settle for less than an Outstanding in her own bed.

Draco looked up at her. All of the blood in his body rushed to his lower appendage. Was this why it was difficult to think clearly? He didn’t know if he had ever been this hard before. He marveled at how at ease she seemed. She was turned on, yes. He knew she wanted him, this. And bad, if her panties had given anything away. But she knew what she was doing. This wasn’t her first time at the Quidditch pitch. More specifically, she knew exactly what she wanted and was prepared to get it. Odd how this Gryffindor streak was so irritating in the outside world, yet so arousing in the bedroom.

“Typical Granger—so bossy,” he smiled, clearly meaning it as a compliment.

Hermione flashed a genuine smile in return. She had been called bossy for years and eventually came to wear it as a badge of honor. She liked that he seemed to like that about her too. In this moment anyway.

She began slowly unbuttoning her blouse. He reached up to help, impatient with her pace, but she swatted his hand away. She continued inching slowly down, grazing her fingers over her newly exposed skin. As her fingers reached her neck, she started rocking her hips, moving her wet center along his (very) hard erection. She moaned, closing her eyes and tipping her head back and to the side. Through the haze of his desire, he recognized this look from earlier, when she had taken her first sip of the fire whiskey. Pleasure.

As she rocked on top of him, he slid his hands on top of her smooth thighs, moving slowly and relishing every centimeter of her skin until he once again found the lace hem that had stymied him all night.

“We should get these off of you, Granger.” Her eyes opened, as if woken from a blissful dream.

She slid her arms out of her blouse and threw it on the floor behind her. “You first.” She reached down to find his belt buckle, deftly unhooking the strap. She unzipped his dress pants and leaned down so that her lips were just barely touching his. She stared directly into his eyes as she reached her hand underneath the waistband of his boxers, taking hold of him in her firm, warm hand. He inhaled sharply and broke their eye contact. “Holy shit,” he muttered raggedly.

She ran her hand along the length of him, caressing the raised veins pulsing around his perimeter. Her thumb circled the tip before moving back down his long shaft. “Oh yes, this will do,” she whispered, as if to herself. He groaned from deep within, hazy with need. With the sliver of self-control he had remaining, he flipped her onto her back once again. He needed her to feel the same amount of desperation that he did.

She relaxed into the soft cushion beneath her. _Let’s see what he’s got._

Malfoy stood, removing his pants and shoes before unlacing her shoes and slipping them off. He tucked his finger under the top of one of her knee-length socks and slowly rolled it off and repeated the motion on the other side, caressing her skin as he uncovered her shapely legs.

Once her socks had joined the heap of forgotten clothing on the floor, Draco turned his attention to the lace and cotton nemesis under her plaid short skirt. Crawling back on top of her, he found her lips again in a kiss. Momentarily lost to the dance of their tongues, he refocused his attention to the task at hand. Lightly grazing his long fingers along her inner thighs, he paused, feeling the lace on the very tips of his fingers. He wanted to relish this.

He turned his gaze to look directly into her eyes. He savored his brief moment in control before dipping his finger beneath lace and cotton, groaning as his fingers met the wet, warm pools for the first time. He delicately moved one finger deeper into her. Still looking at her, he slid his finger along her folds, getting to know her hidden depths, before moving upward toward the knot of nerves at the top of her sex. As he circled the nub, he saw her eyes darken and felt her back arch.

“Oh fucking shit,” she exhaled. She knew from the way he touched her that he knew exactly what a clitoris was and what his touch did to her. _Thank god._

Too soon for her liking, Draco returned his finger to her increasing wetness. “This will do,” he whispered as she moaned into his touch. With the last shred of control, he reached down with both hands, sliding her underwear down her silky legs, savoring the moment when he discarded them for good. Her skirt was next.

He brought his lips down to the inner thigh above her knee, slowly kissing and licking up her skin. She was losing herself to the desire, not yet anticipating the move he was planning to play next.

“Can I taste you, Granger?” His gravelly voice reached her through the haze. Her eyes flew open and looked down to meet his piercing greys. “God yes. Don’t stop.” She gasped as she felt his warm tongue meet her slit. She searched for something, anything to grab onto, clutching the fabric beneath her hands, as his tongue began discovering the inner part of her. His slow circles picked up speed, she arched her back. “Holy shit.”

Her eyes flew open as his tongue found her knot of tension. The circles closing in rapidly now, increasing the intensity of his tongue’s pressure. She felt all the tension in her body flood to that one small point. He gripped the sides of her hips to steady her writhing curves. The electric charge built in her lower abdomen as his tongue steadily intensified its movements. One of her hands unfurled itself from the bedcovers and reached down to rake itself through his blonde hair, holding on for the rest of the ride, as if she was afraid she might fall off.

_God._ She tasted so good. Like a fine Scotch, optimally aged. He lapped at her juices, forcing himself not to rush his movements. He felt her hand run through his hair and his tongue instinctively intensified its work. His mouth took residence over her clit, intoxicated by how she responded to his touch. The grip on his hair grew tighter and he knew she was reaching her peak. He stroked his thumb along her opening, dipping a finger in to feel her tighten around his touch.

“Right there,” she moaned, but he knew. He knew exactly where she needed it.

“Oh god, Malfoy,” her voice grew louder as she struggled to contain the intensity brimming inside her. The electric energy concentrated in her center exploded in a shower of currents surging through her body. She screamed, feeling the electricity reach every inch of her body.

He felt her walls close in around his fingers as he continued licking at her wet folds. When the shudder coursed through her body, he made sure not to lift his mouth from her until she came down on the other side of her climax.

She tried to regain her breath. Certain that she had been satisfied, Draco stood and removed his boxers before kissing his way up her stomach, lingering once he reached her breasts, still frustratingly contained behind her lace bra. _We’ll fix that soon._ His lips moved up to her neck, while one hand moved up to her hair, taking hold of her curls as his hot breath scorched her skin.

Half recovered, she felt goosebumps on her skin as Draco’s lips and hands continued to worship her. _He is relentless. _She snaked her hand into his hair once more and tipped his head so that his lips were exposed to her. They looked into each other’s eyes, reflecting the same need and desire. Her eyes moved down to his lips, grateful for the pleasure they had given her moments before. He licked his lips and her eyes flew back up to meet his. She smiled at the mischievous twinkle that danced across his grey depths.

He positioned himself on top of her and she sighed as she felt his weight. She loved the heaviness of a man on top of her and she relished the feeling before opening her legs to either side of him, enveloping him as her feet connected behind him. They kissed. Gently, at first, savoring the calm before the storm. She could feel his still hard cock against her seeping wet opening. The kiss deepened, her tongue seeking out his, tasting a bit of herself still on his lips. She had a new appreciation for his tongue now, meeting its movements with her own. She felt the familiar tingle on her skin return and moaned into his mouth as she realized the tension in her lower abdomen was beginning to build again too.

Every time he kissed her, he momentarily lost his mind. When he regained focus, his hand traveled down to the cup of her bra, his thumb circling her nipple through the fabric. She bit his lip in retaliation and he smiled into their kiss. He slid his hand underneath her back, quickly unlatching the hooks of her bra. He swept his hand back to her front, running his fingers along one strap and slowly pulling it over her shoulder. His lips left her mouth and found their way to the skin where her strap had been, caressing the spot with his tongue as his other hand found the second strap, pulling it down over her other shoulder.

Hermione rolled her hips up to rub her wet opening along his hard shaft. He was taking too fucking long and it drove her out of her mind. Entertained by her impatience, his lips and fingers abandoned the work of removing her bra altogether.

“Goddammit Malfoy.” She could feel the tension in her body mounting. He chuckled into her neck as he reached down to remove her bra, tossing it behind him quickly. She exhaled in relief as his eyes traveled down to her exposed breasts. As he took in the sight of her, she could feel a twitch where their bodies met below.

He took her right breast into his hot, wet mouth, swirling his gifted tongue around her nipple and gently sucking on her flesh before repeating his movements on her other breast. Hermione closed her eyes and tipped her head back into the soft mattress. Her hands softly fell to the sides of his head, absent-mindedly stroking her fingers through his hair. Her heart rate began to speed up as she lost herself to the moment.

Draco began to rock his hips gently, letting his length caress her opening and keenly aware that his tip brushed over her clit each time he rocked upwards. She moaned, acknowledging that she knew what he was doing.

“I want to feel you inside of me,” she said softly with her eyes still closed in ecstasy. His face grew serious as he understood that this was the point of no return.

“Granger, look at me.” Her eyes fluttered open, meeting the intensity of his gaze. “Say it again.” She lifted her head and look at him with clarity in her eyes.

“I need you…” she panted as she reached down and took him in her firm grasp. “…inside me,” placing his tip at her opening, just enough to skim her wetness. “Now.”

The proximity to her slick opening made his body shake with anticipation. With one slow thrust, Draco entered her, taking his time in reaching her depths. Her walls were wet and tight as they expanded to accommodate him. When he felt the entire length of him inside her, he let out a ragged breath that he didn’t realize he had been holding in.

She loved how he filled her up completely. As he pulled his length out from her, she felt desperate to feel full again. As he moved back into her, her legs instinctively drew his hips in faster as her own hips came up to meet his thrust. “Fucking hell, Granger.” He stayed inside her for a moment as she noticed beads of sweat forming at his temples. He pulled out, but unwilling to be unsheathed from her for too long, quickly slid back in, picking up the pace steadily with each thrust. He rolled his hips rhythmically, finding a natural groove with her own movements. She sighed in relief as it became clear he had no intention of hammering his cock into her mindlessly. His thrusts were smooth and controlled, taking her on the journey with him. She bit her lip as she began to feel the tension recharge inside of her.

He saw her take her bottom lip in between her teeth and his thrusts began to intensify as he fought to maintain control of his movements. He reached down and grabbed hold of one of her breasts, kneading the flesh beneath him. She reached her arms behind his back, pulling him closer to her, feeling the full weight of him on her as their bodies rocked in motion together. His head fell into her soft brown curls as he whispered, “oh god.”

She was distantly aware that sounds—possibly loud sounds—were escaping her mouth, unable to stop the energy from gathering within her core. Her hips smashed into his with increasing urgency, as they traded screams of mounting anticipation. And then the switch inside her flipped, sending electricity shooting through her veins once again. She arched into the orgasm, crying out as the shock waves pulsed through her body.

He felt her walls vibrate around him as he slid inside her one more time. A powerful surge reached him, as if he had just been struck by lightning. He cried out as he felt himself come inside her. Shuddering as he succumbed to the aftershock.

He fell limp on top of her and her weak arms wrapped themselves around him. They stayed this way, catching their breath, for a few moments. Finally he fell off of her to her side, keeping a warm hand on the smooth, taut skin of her stomach.

She sighed. “Too bad this is the last night at Hogwarts. We could have been having great sex this whole year.”

His mind fluttered to the idea of repeating their night in all the nooks and crannies of the old castle. Then he realized that their time at Hogwarts was indeed almost over. He smiled at how he had spent so many years at the school hating and taunting Hermione Granger, only for all those years of animosity to be upturned in one night. He looked at her and felt himself tense as he caught a familiar glint of desire cross her golden brown eyes.

“Well, let’s make the most of tonight then,” he growled as he took her face in his hands and met her lips with his.


	2. Never Have I Ever

*5 Years Later*

“Never have I ever,” a hush fell among those gathered in the dark and dusty Hog’s Head pub, the second choice location for the unofficial Hogwarts Reunion After Party. The Three Broomsticks had been rented out for a Hogwarts faculty party that evening, but no matter. The Hog’s Head was a more appropriate venue for the turn this after party had taken anyway.

Ron Weasley’s ears were already pink as his brain whirred through all the things he had never done (which was, quite the list). The tables in the pub had been drawn together and the chairs arranged somewhat loosely around the perimeter. The old wooden chairs audibly groaned under the weight of several people leaning slightly forward in anticipation.

“I’m losing my buzz, Weasley, hurry up!” Pansy Parkinson quipped from the edge of the bar, where she was nursing a firewhiskey, neat. Murmurings of agreement spread through the crowd of old schoolmates. Alcohol, nostalgia, and the promise of private confessions were a tantalizing mix.

“Ok, ok,” Ron said quickly. “Never have I ever…” His head shot up, the personification of a lightbulb going on. “Been to America!”

A collective groan erupted throughout the crowd.

“It’s after midnight, Weasley. Save that one for when you play with your grandmother,” said Ernie McMillan, adjusting his old Hufflepuff scarf that he had worn for the occasion to sit more loosely around his neck.

“Let’s kick this up a notch, shall we? Never have I ever…” the hush returned and Ernie looked around at the faces of his former classmates gathered for the first time since that epic party the last night of school five years ago. His eyes landed on Neville, whose arm was casually draped around Luna’s shoulders, both of them still emitting a post-honeymoon glow from their nuptials a few weeks before. A memory returned to Ernie and he smirked, eyes fixed on Neville.

“Never have I ever been sucked off in the greenhouses while on prefect duty.”

A titter spread across the crowd.

“That’s more like it!”

“Leave it to a Hufflepuff…”

Neville’s eyes went wide and then he took a drink. “Asshole,” he chuckled under his breath. A few others surreptitiously took a drink from their glasses too.

Hermione sat across from Draco in the loosely arranged circle and caught his eye as he finished taking a sip. She raised an amused eyebrow at his tacit confession, silently questioning, _really, the greenhouse? _He smirked back and shrugged, but his eyes lingered on hers, again.

They had yet to exchange any words out loud to each other, but they had exchanged plenty of meaningful looks across the Great Hall at the reunion and now, across this dingy, dimly lit pub. Their looks were cautious at first, feeling each other out. It had been five years since they had seen one another, but their last exchange was pretty hard to forget. The first time their eyes connected, Hermione felt a phantom twinge deep within her. Although it had been several years, memories of how he had touched her, licked her, made her break apart were still useful fodder for her nightly “alone time.”

Draco, too, had yet to fuck away memories of how it felt to be inside of her, bossed around by her, bloody consumed by her. The moment he saw her across the Hall, blood rushed from his head to his lower appendage. She looked stunning. In truth, she always had.

As the evening went on, their furtive glances turned into longer stares that ended in one or the other of them turning back to their conversations with a sheepish smile and a bit more color to their features.

The inherent awkwardness of the reunion had made most people retreat into the comfort of their old cliques. Hermione spent the evening reminiscing with Harry, Neville, Luna, Ron, and (begrudgingly) Lavender, while Draco slinked around with his old Slytherin cohort. It would have seemed odd—or worse, obvious—if they had broken from their groups to seek each other out for a one-on-one conversation. When the idea of Hogsmeade was raised, Hermione caught Draco’s eye and with a slight nod of her head, encouraged him to come along. He convinced his skeptical crew of snakes to join too.

“Never have I ever…” the energy in the room now buzzed with sexual tension. Dean Thomas tapped his fingers against his glass as he contemplated. “Never have I ever hooked up with a Slytherin.”

Huffs and cries of “oh come on!” from around the room as all Slytherins and a few others lifted their glasses to drink.

“Well, you’re missing out, Thomas,” Pansy scoffed into her glass.

Hermione took a sip of firewhiskey (on the rocks), trying to seem as perfectly nonchalant as possible. She was prepared for, but still dreading, the inquisition that would follow this reveal.

“Harry!”

Startled, Hermione turned to see Ron staring in horror at Harry, who was gulping down a large sip of Ogden’s. “You can’t be serious!”

Evidently neither had seen her take her own tell-tale sip.

All eyes in the room flew to Harry with a mix of amusement and disbelief. A few whispered “no ways” echoing around the pub. Harry cleared his throat, still as uncomfortable being the center of attention as he was at Hogwarts. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, Ron.” And then he threw back the rest of his glass before standing up to order another from the bar.

Ron swiveled slowly in his chair, his face still frozen in shock, and turned to Hermione. “Did you know about this?” She shook her head, smiled, and shrugged, immensely relieved to have dodged that bullet.

Like a magnet, her gaze was pulled to Draco’s. His eyes were dancing with amusement at her, and despite the promise she had made to herself to play it cool, her smile broadened, lighting up her whole face and igniting something deeper inside of her too. Then he jerked his head toward the bar, urging her to follow his glance. She followed his line of sight to where Harry stood ordering a drink, right next to Pansy. If she hadn’t been looking closely, she would have missed it—Harry’s index finger reassuringly stroking the back of Pansy’s hand, a sly smile on Pansy’s face as she fingered the rim of her drink.

Hermione’s head whipped back around to look at Draco. _No way_, she mouthed across the room. He nodded knowingly and then tossed her a wink that settled in a flutter in her stomach. She smiled and dipped her head as a blush crept up her neck.

“Ok fine, Thomas,” Theo Nott piped up. “Never have I ever hooked up with a Gryffindor.”

Groans from around the room as glass tumblers were plunked back on the tables. Draco and Pansy took their sips as imperceptibly as possible. Blaise miserably knocked back his entire glass.

“Ah, mate, sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Theo said to Blaise, whose obvious discontent had distracted others from noticing the other more surprising admissions from around the room.

“It’s fine. I’m over it,” said Blaise, who was obviously not over anything. Ron shuffled awkwardly in his seat next to Hermione.

Blaise and Ginny had reconnected after Hogwarts two years ago, when she was the star player of the local Quidditch team and he was the top agent recruiting athletes as spokespeople for companies that produced Quidditch brooms and other equipment. They instantly became a beloved power couple in the Witch Weekly tabloid scene and by all accounts had been nearing an engagement.

But then, Ginny received a multi-million galleon contract to play in Spain. They attempted the long-distance, portkey relationship, but their schedules kept them apart too often. Ginny was the one to suggest they go on a break the year before. Three months ago, Witch Weekly began covering her whirlwind romance with a new teammate. Blaise, clearly, had not moved on quite as fast.

Eager to lighten the mood and refocus the attention away from the unlucky love life of one of his best mates, Draco cleared his throat and said, “Never have I ever…” Instantly all eyes fixed on the Malfoy heir, eager to know what it could possibly be that _he_ had never done.

“Never have I ever had shower sex.”

A chorus of disbelief echoed around the room.

“Are you serious?”

“How is that possible?”

Draco shrugged and glanced at Hermione, who hadn’t taken a sip either. Her eyes were fixed on him as she bit her lip to keep from smiling. Suddenly, imaginary scenes of water dripping down her beautiful body as he pounded into her against white tile flashed across his mind. He shifted slightly in his seat to hide the tenting in his pants.

“Ok, Hermione, how about you go next?” Ernie said, as the increasingly raucous crowd whooped in approval.

“Never have I ever,” Hermione started, and the crowd hung on her every word, waiting for the rare opportunity to gain insight into the Golden Girl’s sexual proclivities. She smiled to herself and said, “Never have I ever had morning sex.”

Gasps around the room.

“Hermione, dear, you really must try it,” Luna said as she snuggled further into Neville’s embrace.

“I want to,” Hermione laughed. “The opportunity just hasn’t presented itself yet!”

Her eyes, again, found Draco’s, his glass untouched too. His stare burned through her body right down to her dampening knickers. She imagined a mess of white sheets and his muscular forearm wrapping around her half-asleep form as he kissed her neck and entered her from behind. She recrossed her legs to alleviate some of the building tension.

After a few more rounds of untouched drinks, Hermione and Draco discovered there were a few other things neither of them had ever done—blindfolds, ropes, role play. With each round, the look in their eyes grew more heated as the fantasies ricocheted between them.

Finally, the game reached its natural end and everyone began gathering their things, closing out bar tabs, and making their exit—some staggering out into the chill Hogsmeade night and some giggling in pairs as they made their way to rooms upstairs.

Harry had excused himself quickly, claiming an early morning, and darted out the main door. Hermione noticed Pansy was nowhere to be seen and chuckled softly to herself, making a mental note to ask Harry about this development when she saw him next.

Ron, oblivious to Harry’s strange behavior, turned to Hermione. “Want to walk back to the Three Broomsticks together?”

Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw Draco lingering by the door with Blaise.

“Uh, you go ahead. I still have to pay up and then want to hit up the loo.”

Ron shrugged and made toward the exit, finding Susan Bones headed in the same direction.

After paying, Hermione felt a wave of anticipation as she turned around, eager to see if her night would include the promise of an orgasm (or two). The last time a man had successfully brought her to climax was at least a year ago. (Why was good sex so fucking hard to come by?)

But she didn’t see Draco anywhere. She looked around the room, searching for a flash of blonde hair. Nothing. Disappointed and terribly sexually frustrated, she gathered her coat and made her way to the pub’s front door.

As she reached for the door knob, she felt a strong hand grab her arm and jerk her into a nearby alcove.

“Please tell me you’re not with anyone right now,” Draco breathed heavily and pressed his body against hers.

“No,” Hermione panted, out of breath from the surprise capture and already so worked up from their hours-long eye contact, she worried one touch would undo her completely. “You?”

“No,” he exhaled heavily in relief. “Thank Merlin.”

And then they were kissing, all out snogging amidst the cobwebs in the musty corner. Her fingers raked into the hair at the nape of his neck and his hands were frantically refreshing his memory of how every one of her curves felt beneath his fingertips. Each time their tongues and lips connected, they were transported back to the dark and kinky closet in the Hufflepuff common room, as if the last five years had only been a few days.

“Where are you staying?” He murmured hurriedly into her neck as he licked and sucked his way to that tender spot just below her ear.

She moaned when he found it—that spot she remembered him suckling on the last time he made her come—and hush-whispered, “Three Broomsticks.”

His hand glided up her stockinged thigh and grabbed her plump behind—he remembered this was one of the first parts of her that drove him mad. “Floo home with me instead.”

His lips hungrily caught hers and when they parted again, she rasped out, “Lead the way.”

* * *

She was pleasantly surprised to find that “home” for Draco Malfoy was not the stodgy old Manor, but a lush penthouse with floor to ceiling city views. She took a few seconds after stumbling from the floo to appreciate the surroundings. But then his lips were back on her neck and all she could concentrate on was how quickly she could remove every piece of clothing standing in her way to oblivion.

He was so painfully, intensely, desperately hard. He had spent the last few hours imagining this gorgeous woman naked in 35 different ways and he was racing to make sure he checked all 35 off his list before their time ran out again.

In the last five years, Draco had worked his way through most of wizarding England’s 20-something female population (with the occasional foray into the 30- and 40-something groups too), desperately seeking the same high he had felt that last night at Hogwarts. He had finally convinced himself that he had probably built Hermione Granger up too much in his memory. That wasn’t to say he had not had great sex in all that time. But no one was this bossy bookworm with a supple, responsive body and a dirty mouth.

His fingers grazed up her thigh and slipped under drenched knickers into her warm, wet heat. She dug her nails into his shoulders and looked at him with darkly serious eyes. “Don’t stop touching my clit until I come at least once.”

He chuckled to himself and threw her backwards on his bed. “My room, my rules, Granger,” and with a dastardly smirk, he reached up to remove the sheer, lacy fabric covering her most delicious parts.

“Oh god,” she groaned, as his lips and tongue brought her closer to orgasm in 10 seconds than any man or her fingers had done in five years. She had no idea how she had lived all this time without this. Without his tongue slipping into and out of her folds and tracing circles around her most sensitive spot. Without his gifted hands caressing every nerve ending in her body.

She had nearly been in love once. She thought she could eventually love him, anyway. Four years ago—a year after the surprising, and satisfying, last night at Hogwarts—she reconnected with Anthony Goldstein at a Ministry panel on the newly proposed House Elf Bill of Rights. She had decided to pursue a career in magical law and Anthony was clerking for one of the senior members of the Wizengamot. He was ambitious, accomplished, and able to keep up with her intellectually. He rivaled her in his penchant for routine, going so far as to schedule their sexual intercourse for Friday evenings and Sunday afternoons. (Never spontaneous, always missionary.) He woke early to exercise and make it into the office (“Early bird gets the worm!”). Morning sex had never made it onto the calendar.

They were together for two years before he started casually mentioning future plans that assumed marriage, children, and a disconcerting secondary role for her. (“We can plan to have our first child right before I launch my first campaign for Wizengamot,” he mused one evening over exactly 1.5 glasses of wine.)

The day she broke it off was like emerging from a fog. She swore that she would never settle for a man who didn’t support her career goals or quench her sexual appetite, let alone a man who didn’t do either.

Over the last two years, she had thrown herself into her work, dating occasionally, but mostly relying on a rotating lineup of muggle and magical sex toys to keep her sane. Although it had been years, memories of her night with Draco was still a surefire way to bring her release.

Why hadn’t she sought him out before tonight? Whenever she caught a glimpse of Witch Weekly, it seemed like Draco had been having enough fun without her. Perhaps it was pride and a fear that she might look desperate that kept her from sending him an owl. He never reached out to her, after all.

But now, as he flicked his tongue masterfully across her clit and the electricity surged from her head to her toes, exploding in currents around her, his name ripped from her throat in a cathartic scream, she felt like an idiot. Who the fuck cares about pride, when she could have been feeling this.

“You taste just as perfect as I remember,” he whispered up the flesh of her abdomen as he made his way to rest on top of her. He began tracing his tongue along her collarbone, working his way dangerously close to her spot. “I can’t get enough.”

She luxuriated under the delicious weight of him on top of her, surrounding her small frame with his lithe, athletic one. She felt his hard length slide between her folds, slicking himself with her juices.

His eyes clenched shut and he groaned. She shifted her hips up so that his tip slipped to press against her opening. His eyes shot open to look at her.

She met his desperate gaze with her own. “Now, Draco.”

And he pushed forward. The feeling of being back within her tight, wet vice, just how he remembered— fantasized—flooded his senses. The years he spent convincing himself this was built up in his imagination evaporated as soon as he felt every inch of himself gripped by her smooth warmth. This was exactly as perfect as he remembered. Better even. How tragic.

As he pulled his shaft out, feeling her walls contort around the ridges of his cock, he struggled to figure out how it had taken five years to feel this again.

Right after Hogwarts, he had thrown himself mentally and emotionally into his Healer studies. Some of his friends would say the intensity with which he approached healing might have been compensating for some of the dark deeds he had done in his past. Those friends were probably right, he had to admit. He liked Healing because it played to his strengths—potions and complex charms work—while also providing an outlet for him to create some good in the world after years of doing nothing but the opposite.

The intensive Healer curriculum left little time for relationships or romance, which was a bonus. He had the perfect, noble excuse to keep his escapades casual.

He had heard that Hermione was dating Goldstein, a repulsing match in Draco’s opinion. One look at him and you could tell he probably scheduled his orgasms to occur at an optimal interval. He couldn’t imagine this curly-haired sex kitten currently mewling underneath him could be satisfied with that.

“Fuck, your cock hits me in all the right places.”

He was about to explode with all the words and sounds coming out of her naughty little mouth. He reached down between them and began thumbing her clit gently. “I fucking love how it feels to be inside you,” he hoarsely whispered as he sucked her earlobe between his teeth and pounded into her harder.

She began squirming and whimpering and her cries were coming closer together. He didn’t know if he could last.

“Come on my cock right now and I promise we will work through the rest of our bucket list later,” their breath mixing together in shaky exhales.

“Morning sex,” he said against the pulse point in her neck, lightly nipping her flesh.

“Shower sex,” he nipped on the other side of her neck.

And then, barely able to hang on, he pressed hard on her clit and whispered, “Blindfolds,” as he thrust into the hilt and bit _that_ spot below her ear.

The earth shattered beneath them and the sky overhead blew apart as five years of pent up need exploded around them. They regained consciousness as their breath slowed. The last thing either of them remembered was Draco pulling Hermione to his chest as sleep overtook them both.

* * *

“It’s not technically morning anymore, but I won’t tell if you won’t,” Draco sleepily nuzzled into her neck as he pulled her body closer against him. She felt his erection press against her backside and his hand snaking down her front. Lightly cresting over her clit, his finger dipped inside of her awakening body. She moaned as she felt him slip in easily.

He hummed in her ear as he slowly pumped his finger in and out, “So ready for me already.”

She turned her head to look into his sleepy eyes and mumbled, “You have no idea.”

He soon replaced his fingers with his fully awake cock, sliding into her slowly and setting a lazy rhythm while gently caressing her nipples and whispering confessions of how perfect she felt, how beautiful she was, how long he had wanted to do this again. She arched her back and kissed him as she came. She looked forward to telling Luna that morning sex was, in fact, worth the wait.

They laid in bed for hours after that, limbs entangled and hair messily askew. They exchanged stories from the last five years.

“I have to admit, I didn’t see Healer Malfoy coming,” she laughed as she shot her a look of mock offense. “All that additional schooling! Where would you find the time to polish all those Malfoy galleons and hook up with leggy heiresses?”

“Jealous, Granger?” He pinched her lightly on the arm. “As you will recall, I did fairly well in school. I would have been first in the class, if not for a certain know-it-all swot,” he said as his hand reached down to give her a playful squeeze on her bum. The intoxicating tinkle of her giggles shot straight to his cock.

“No, in all seriousness,” he said as their laughter subsided, “I did a lot of questionable things while I was at Hogwarts and this felt like a way I could use my skills to help people. It may never make up for all the hurt I caused, but it feels like a step in the right direction.”

She looked up into his eyes and was so entranced by the open vulnerability she found there that she found herself kissing him moments later.

When they broke apart, he held up his index finger and motioned for her to do the same. She gave him a questioning look as she raised her finger to match his.

“We don’t have any drinks so we have to use fingers. Put your finger down if you have done what I am about to say.” She smiled in comprehension, remembering the game from last night.

“Never have I ever,” he paused dramatically, biting back a smirk. “…waited this long after such athletic sex to eat.”

She threw her head back in laughter but kept her finger raised. He hooked his raised finger around hers and kissed her forehead. “Let’s see what kind of sustenance I have in this place.”

* * *

“Can I ask you something,” Draco said as they levitated their dirty plates to the kitchen. “Goldstein, really?”

She sighed and slumped onto his oversized couch with her equally oversized mug of tea. “I know. I can’t believe I wasted two years of my life in that relationship.”

“He can’t possibly have gotten you off enough times to make it worth it,” Draco said as he sat down next to her. He took a sip of his tea, and without thinking, began running his hand in lazy circles just above her knee.

“He rarely got me off at all, to be honest,” Hermione admitted. “I feel bad saying that, but it just wasn’t a good fit. Sex aside, I realized he never saw my career prospects as equal to his own, which is pretty absurd, considering I am…” she trailed off in a sudden bout of modesty.

“Considering you are the Brightest Witch of Your Age, et cetera,” Draco finished for her. She smiled at him gratefully and nodded. “He’s an idiot.”

She laughed—the sound again sending tingles down Draco’s spine—and said, “Yes, which is exactly why it didn’t work out.” Her fingers absently fluttered over the hand he had placed above her knee and began tracing light patterns across the back of his palm. His eyes were captivated by how intimate, how right, this felt.

“And anyway, being in a relationship became distracting. I was trying to work my way up the ranks in magical law to begin drafting legislation and working to achieve real change for magical creatures.”

He smiled. Five years had passed but some things never change—Hermione Granger’s steadfast commitment to magical creature rights was one of them. He felt a warmth spread in his chest at the thought.

The sunlight began to fade and they each had only a few more sips left of their tea. He was suddenly overcome by dread that his time with her was coming to an end. He scrambled for an idea to keep her around for at least a few more hours, but preferably another night. Then an idea popped into his head.

He turned to her and held up his index finger. She smiled and raised hers too.

“Never have I ever watched one of those muggle telly-fishin’ things. What do they call them, movies?” He had to raise his voice to make sure she heard him over her peals of laughter.

When she composed herself, she hooked her raised finger around his and said, “Well, let’s fix that, shall we?”

* * *

“So what did you th— wait,” Hermione adjusted herself so that she could see Draco’s face in the light. “Are you _crying_?”

“Dust. It’s just dust,” he waved his hand to gesture to the rest of the room. “You should really consider cleaning up around here, Granger.” He sniffed and quickly wiped his fingers across his eyes.

“Oh my god. You are crying at _When Harry Met Sally_! Admit it.”

“I admit that it was a touching story.”

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close for a kiss. Normally, she relished her solitary nights alone, but this movie night was the most fun she had had in a while.

They had left Draco’s in the early evening to floo to her apartment, where she had a “telly-fishin” installed above her fireplace. He poured wine and (magically) popped popcorn, while she reviewed her film library. She felt enormous pressure to select the right films. What do you select when you must fit all of film history into a double feature? Two films, two chances to convince a pureblood wizard that this muggle art form was worth further inquiry. She needed films that showed range, celebrated the technical and storytelling capabilities of muggles, and, ideally, appealed to his interests. In a panic, she went with two of her favorites, knowing the second one was more of a risk.

As expected, he had been thoroughly enraptured by Star Wars—the themes, she assumed, deeply resonating with him. His emotional response to the greatest romantic comedy of all time had been decidedly less expected.

As he deepened the kiss and shifted her so that she straddled his lap, she fleetingly thought to herself that if she could spend the rest of her life in this moment, she would. She rolled her hips against him and laced her fingers through his hair.

“You know, my apartment may be smaller than yours, but I do have a shower,” her tone was sultry and her meaning unmistakable.

He gripped her round bum with both hands and thrust his now hardened length upwards and growled, “Is that so?”

“I was thinking we could cross another item off of our bucket list.”

“So productive, Granger.”

“I wasn’t Head Girl for nothing.” She smirked as she lifted herself off his lap and led him to her bathroom.

* * *

“Do you think people actually go through the ritual of showering when having shower sex?” Hermione asked as Draco slid his soapy hands up her stomach and spent precious time ensuring that her breasts were properly lathered.

“I don’t know, but I am certainly not complaining at the moment.” He grazed his thumb back and forth over her protruding nipples and she bit back a whimper as she slid her own hands over his carefully chiseled abdomen.

Just touching him like this, following the tight ridges of his muscles over his pecs and along his neck, made her body tingle all over.

He stepped her backwards under the warm water stream and nearly choked on his moan as he watched the white suds cascade down her tan skin, sliding from her shoulders to her toned legs and disappearing through the drain. Rivulets of clear water now rippled over her breasts like a stream gently flowing over rocks. Without thinking, he bent his head down and ran his tongue from the underside of her perky mounds and over her nipple, thinking of nothing but drinking up every droplet of water that touched her skin.

Hermione’s head dropped back into the shower stream and her fingers entangled themselves in his wet locks. Shower foreplay, at least, felt fucking fantastic. And the sight of him—his thick cock bobbing under the drizzle, eager for her shelter, and his muscles. Fuck, his muscles—the ones that she could now observe at a small distance, glistening and sparkling under the thick droplets coating his pale flesh. She moaned and felt wet all over—slicking along her skin, down her thighs, inside her inner walls.

He straightened to look at her, his eyes dark with need.

“Draco, now,” she could barely finish before he grabbed behind her thighs and hoisted her up, her back colliding with chill white tile.

And then he was inside her, filling her all the way up and gripping her ass so hard there would still be fingerprints there by morning. The rhythm of their previous sessions had been unhurried—passionate but not rushed. As he pulled back and pounded back into her, he began hitting her hard, fast, and deep. Her body responded in kind, the wetness coating her walls welcoming him in with each thrust. Unable to form words, her screams and moans echoed around them in what sounded like, “more, more, more.”

He grunted in her ear, murmuring lost phrases—“never like this,” “made for me,” “this forever”—that neither of them would remember afterward.

The force of each thrust slapped against her clit and reached her right _there_ inside. She dug her nails into his chest, unprepared for the speed of her approaching orgasm. And then, impact. Her release hit her, crashing and crunching through every limb in her body. Her legs shook violently around Draco’s waist.

As he felt her quake around him, his release collided with hers and he jerked into her one last time before his own limbs gave out and their spent bodies slid down the slick tile, steam still thick around them from the hot water pulsing down.

Hours later, wrapped in large terry cloth robes, they slept entangled, neither of them fully aware of how they made it from the floor of her shower to her bed.

* * *

The sun brightened behind his eyelids and he was awake but not yet willing to open his eyes. He was warm all over, not uncomfortably, and surrounded by soft, plushy material. His mind registered that he was not in his own bed.

His eyes reluctantly flicked open to take in his surroundings and he was momentarily struck dumb by the sight beside him. Brown, curly hair splayed across pastel sheets, white terry cloth framing tan skin, one lapel pulled to the side, revealing the enticing crease where her breasts fell across her ribcage. Hypnotized, he grazed his fingers along the edge of this crevice, before using his whole hand to gently massage her fleshy mound. She moaned sleepily, the sound hitting his cock like a wake-up call.

He soaked up this moment where he could observe her without distraction. As his eyes slowly catalogued every skin cell from her head down to her toes, his deep subconscious recognized that this was the most fulfilled he had ever felt with another person.

She awoke to his mouth on her exposed collarbone and his hand slipping inside her robe. She felt aroused, yes, but also, oddly, content. At peace. She sighed and lazily opened more of her body to him. His eyes flicked up to see her awake and with a mischievous smile began kissing his way down her body.

He took his time that morning like there was nowhere else they needed to be. Long, slow strokes of his tongue around her opening, languid caresses against her clit. Her orgasm built slow and took its time rolling through her body, sweeping over her like a summer breeze. Why ever leave this bed? She ignored the small thoughts that came in response, reminding her that she would soon have to leave. Not just this bed, but him. She could worry about that later.

After awakening for the second time, they curled into each other, feathering their fingers over each other’s bodies as they told each other about their favorite books and gossiped about their mutual friends.

“So, Harry and _Pansy_, huh?” Hermione had almost forgotten about this stunning revelation. “How did you find out?”

“Well, first of all, I’m very perceptive.” She snorted, but he continued. “No, actually. I was at Pansy’s flat before heading out to the pub one evening and I saw what looked like a red and gold Quidditch jersey thrown into a corner. I picked up, thinking it couldn’t possibly be a Gryffindor jersey—how absurd!—but lo and behold, it said _Potter_ on the back. The look on her face when she found me holding it gave her away immediately. That was maybe three months ago.”

“What! Harry hasn’t mentioned a thing, although we haven’t been able to get together as much recently. I guess this explains why,” she added contemplatively. “I wonder if it’s serious.”

“It’s serious for Pansy at least. I’ve never seen her so smitten. She’s almost been…_kind_.”

Hermione gasped in mock shock. “How dreadful!”

Draco chuckled and playfully tickled her side. “The real dreadful one is Blaise.” His expression lost some of its playfulness. “I mean, you saw him at the reunion. Ginny really did a number on him.”

A spark of protest flared up in defense of her friend. “Blaise wasn’t the only one devastated by the end of that relationship. She floo called me once a week for 3 months in tears.”

“Good.”

Hermione’s head jerked toward him, her irritation quickly morphing into anger. Here was the old Draco Malfoy coming through at last.

He noticed her glare and quickly added, “I mean, good that it also meant as much to her as it did to him. I think the fact that she moved on first hurts more than anything.”

Hermione, mollified, conceded, “Yeah. I can understand that. Long distance relationships seem brutal.”

“Definitely,” he agreed and they sat in a heavy silence for a few moments.

Hermione felt a twinge of panic crawl up her spine as she realized they had run out of plans, no more activities to prolong their time together. And then she smiled and held one finger up in front of him.

He smiled and held up his finger too. Perhaps whatever she said next would allow them a few hours more.

“Never have I ever,” and then a wicked grin crept along her face. “Been to the St. Mungo’s renowned Library of Magical Maladies.”

His heart flipped and felt so impossibly full as he laughed and shifted his body to cover the length of hers. His lips nuzzling her neck.

“It is so impossibly _easy_ to get into your pants, Granger.”

* * *

“This place is magnificent!” She whisper-exclaimed to him as they weaved in and out of aisles with bookcases labeled “Cures for the Common Curse” and “Diagnostic Spells for Preventative Health.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious. He looked around and no longer saw the dreary alcoves where he spent hours a day studying for exams, but saw it through her eyes. A new world of knowledge that he had been granted unlimited access to. He felt proud to be able to show this to her.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He said with a smile, more to himself than to her.

As they neared his spot—the table where he spent hours a day for four years learning how to regenerate flesh, regrow bone, or treat effects of the Cruciatus curse—he was suddenly excited about having someone to talk to who actually took an interest in his work.

“Do you have a specialty?” Hermione asked as her fingers trailed along titles on the bookcase, labeled, “Charms for Sexual and Reproductive Health.”

“I just started my residency in Advanced Countercurses. I want to focus my practice on helping people heal from the worst curses.” He looked at her before adding, “Dark and otherwise.”

“That’s so…” she searched for a word to capture her reaction.

“On the nose? Too little, too late?” He offered, his tone laced with self-deprecation.

“I was going to say,” she started again, “that’s so perfect for you.” She smiled kindly and walked toward him. Her arms snaked around his body to loosen the tension in his shoulders. His body relaxed into hers and his arms wound their way around to pull her flush against him.

She kissed him, lingering on his soft, addictive lips longer than she had intended. “What do you like most about your work?” she asked when they parted.

Incredibly, no one had ever asked him this before. He thought for a moment before answering. “The prospect of helping to alleviate suffering was what first appealed to me. But then as time went on, I suppose I became addicted to the thrill of discovery. Maybe that doesn’t sound so altruistic,” he grinned. “But right now, I am working on testing new ingredients that could be added to a potion that numbs the aftereffects of the Cruciatus. I am hoping that, someday, Cruciatus-induced madness is a thing of the past.”

Hermione recognized the same spark of curiosity and inquiry in his eyes that she saw in herself when researching a magical legal problem.

“To be part of that, to know I can help bring about this greater good,” Draco continued, his eyes hardening into something more serious. “It helps me cope with the terrible things I did when I was younger.”

She burrowed herself once again against his lean frame. “You continue to exceed expectations, Draco Malfoy.” As she looked up at him, she saw her smile reflected in his eyes as his own grin spread across his face.

“So do you, Hermione Granger.”

* * *

They laid beside each other in Draco’s bed later that evening, chests heaving and blindfolds draped around their sweat-slicked necks.

“Holy shit.” Hermione could still feel aftershocks rippling through her.

“Yeah.” Draco could only think back to how intense it felt to be inside her without seeing her, how every sound was amplified as it reverberated between them. He thought, not for the first time in the last few days, how effortless and spectacular it felt to be around her. Part of him was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing in his life was ever this easy, this perfect. This happy. It was hard to trust.

And yet. Hearing her inhale and exhale beside him, he could easily pretend this was his reality. Her—and her smart, gorgeous, bossy, _filthy_ mouth—lying next to him as if she resided there. He could picture it easily.

She sighed and swung her leg over him and snuggled into him as if she had done it a million times. “I wish I didn’t have to leave and we could just stay in this bed forever.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, tingling with the fear that she could read his mind. “I’m certainly not kicking you out, so that can be arranged.” He didn’t trust himself to say more, to give more of himself away.

She fell disconcertingly quiet and he thought he would choke on the tension around them. This was the other shoe. It was about to drop. He knew it.

She sat up and was unable to look at him in the eyes. “Actually. I do have to leave soon unfortunately. I’m leaving for America on Thursday.”

He felt a wave of relief. Just a vacation! “That sounds exciting. For how long?”

“Three years.”

His blood, overheated moments before under the blindfold, ran cold in his veins. “What? Why?”

She looked at him then and her face told him that she felt as gutted by this revelation as he did. Or perhaps they both felt the same measure of surprise that they would feel any way at all. This was, originally, just sex. Fantastic, mind-blowing sex. But now the way she spoke and the devastation he felt as he comprehended her words told them both this had definitely become more than just that.

“I got a fellowship. A pretty prestigious one in comparative international law. I’ll spend three years in Washington, DC, learning about magical law in the States. When I come back, I will be able to work on thing like trafficking and other legal issues related to magical creatures that extend beyond Britain’s borders.”

“When you come back…” His mind was furiously trying to find a silver lining. “But you may like it better there.” (His mind was also cynical as fuck.)

“I suppose that’s possible,” though she seemed reassuringly skeptical.

“That actually sounds like the perfect opportunity for you,” he forced himself to add. It was true, he just hated saying anything positive about this plan that stood between him and happiness. “You would do a lot of good working on international magical law.”

Her body relaxed slightly against him and she allowed herself a small smile. “I know. I was—am—really looking forward to it.”

For a wild moment, he imagined himself packing up his entire flat and stowing away with her to America and being a kept man for the next three years. Massaging her tense shoulders when she studied, licking her sensitive clit when she didn’t—it sounded divine. Rich purebloods didn’t need real jobs anyway.

But then he remembered his research. The potion that could nullify one of the Unforgivable Curses. The patients that sat in St. Mungo’s with their eyes glazed and minds scrambled. The families that came to visit every week and felt their heart ache more when they left than when they arrived. The promise he made himself to make things better.

“You still get owls in America, right? There is this wonderful Muggle invention called sexting that I have heard about.” He flashed her a smile and wiggled his eyebrows, trying to convey more enthusiasm than he felt.

She laughed sadly and slunk down next to him. “We can’t stay in contact, Draco.”

He felt a deep, physical hole rupture open deep inside. A future he didn’t realize he had elaborately crafted in his mind fluttered out. Laughter, books, rumpled sheets on weekend mornings, steam blurring the edges of a mirror. The hole closed and he was left feeling noticeably less—less happy, less optimistic. Less whole.

He didn’t trust himself to speak. When the silence had suffocated them both, she continued, “I don’t want to be presumptuous here. I know we have only spent a couple of great days, and nights, and mornings, together. It’s just that…you saw what happened with Blaise and Ginny.”

She looked at him to see if he understood what she meant. “I already like you too much, Draco. I know myself. I’ll spend the first few months giddily waiting for your owl or reordering my schedule around your floo calls. I’ll spend the next few months after that alternating between the high of hearing from you and the low of not hearing from you. After we have drawn out our misery long enough, we’ll have an emotionally draining conversation where we decide it is better to be apart. I’ll come back to Britain reminded of all the sad memories of you, rather than the wonderful memories of these last few days. I told myself after Anthony that I wouldn’t let another man distract me from achieving my career goals.”

His jaw tightened as she described this dystopian future. He had had a front row seat to Blaise’s slow motion heartbreak and he deeply, deeply hated to admit it, but he couldn’t put himself through that—or her, or them, for that matter. With watery eyes, he shifted his eyes to find hers, brimming with her own tears.

He leaned forward, touching his lips to hers, and stretched his body flush on top of hers. He knew she loved feeling his weight above her. He deepened the kiss, etching each ridge of her tongue into his memory forever. Propping himself on his forearms to look at her, he ran his index finger across her brow and down the bridge of her nose, across her eyelids and over her cheekbone, creating a high-definition image of her, like this, in his mind.

When he reached the edge of her chin, he lifted his finger up in front of her, his sad eyes urging her to play one last time.

She smiled sadly and raised her finger to meet his.

“Never have I ever,” and then he paused, taking a moment before he spoke the inevitable into existence. “Never have I ever had goodbye sex.”

Her eyes welled and he kissed her cheeks, whispering “don’t cry” into her wet skin.

“I’m not crying,” she swallowed her lie, voice thick with emotion from saying goodbye to a future she didn’t even know she wanted.

She weakly waved her hand to motion around them.

“Dust. It’s just dust.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh noooooooooo what have I done?? I took a smutty little one-shot and turned it into heartbreak! Don't worry bbs, we have one more chapter in this story - it will be posted next Monday. Can you guess what game they will play next? ;)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read this story. Thank you especially to commenters jacpin2002 and aeries_amethyst, who inspired me to follow the journey of these two crazy kids a further. I hope you enjoy!


	3. Taboo

**3 years later**

“Sorry I’m late!”

Hermione bounded through the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place, one hand clenched around a bottle of red wine and the other reaching up to loosen the scarf around her neck. She abruptly stilled when her eyes found his. Here. For the first time in three years. She hadn’t planned for it to be like this.

“Granger, excellent! You can be Draco’s partner.”

Pansy swooped through the living room to the door to help Hermione with her coat, ever the consummate hostess and Lady of Grimmauld Place. Not very long after that fateful Hogwarts reunion, Harry had introduced his new girlfriend to his friends. Naturally, the tabloids had yet to catch their breath from the revelation that Gryffindor’s Chosen One chose…her. But Pansy seemed unperturbed by the skeptical stares that followed them. Whenever Hermione had spent time with Pansy and Harry on her brief trips home from America, she had noted how at ease (at peace?) Pansy seemed finally being able to live her love out loud. Harry, too, seemed irredeemably smitten with the dark-haired witch who could give as well as she got.

Hermione pulled her surprised gaze from Draco to Pansy. “Draco’s…partner?” The words were there, but they weren’t making sense together in her mind.

Pansy relieved Hermione of the bottle of wine. “Yes, of course. It’s game night! We were thinking of playing Taboo, but we need to have pairs in order to play.” Hermione’s eyes instinctually, magnetically, flashed back toward Draco’s. He was awkwardly busying himself with folding table napkins, a stiffness creeping through his normally lithe muscles. A memory of those muscles wrapped in white sheets sent a jolt of electricity through her.

“Hermione!” Harry and Ron both rushed forward, battling each other for first hug.

Ron hugged her tight with his characteristic warmth. “I heard you were getting back this week, but I didn’t know it would be tonight! Nobody tells me anything anymore.” He glared at Harry.

In the last three years, Ron had grown to accept, even appreciate, Pansy’s long-term role in his life as his best friend’s partner. But he still smarted from time to time about his days being kept in the dark about their initial courtship. (“Even Malfoy knew before I did!” He once complained to Hermione over floo call when the news first went public.)

“I didn’t know if she would make it,” Harry jovially pushed Ron aside and hugged Hermione close. “Didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up.”

Hermione shook off the initial flutter of shock that she had felt when she first arrived and took in the sight of her best friends. “I wasn’t sure when I could wrap up everything in America. But I’m back now,” Her eyes absently flickered across the room. “For good.”

It felt good to say those words, to be here. Back in London. She had felt like an entire part of herself had been suspended in mid-air for three years, floating next to her as she moved to another country and tried admirably to create a new life halfway across the world. Perhaps she had said goodbye to her old life too soon, she would think on her loneliest nights. When she first arrived in Washington, DC, she had thrown herself into her fellowship, working as many hours as her supervisors would allow. When she ran out of work, she forced herself to accept invitations from coworkers to happy hours and house parties. The coworkers were nice, welcoming, lovely people to pass the time with. But they were not her best friends.

And then, she dated. Compulsively. Many more fish in the sea and all that. But so far, she had yet to prove that saying true. Every new first date held promise at the beginning—but it turns out promise is more like a reserve bank that can be drained over time if not replenished. As each first date held increasingly less promise, and second and third dates became fewer and farther between, Hermione finally decided to take a break. From romance. One-night stands remained on the table of course—a girl has needs!—but she kept chasing the high she felt under _him_. She never found it.

Now, she was here. With him. In the same room. A room that grew smaller and hotter with every minute.

She looked around the rest of the room to the other gathered guests. Susan Bones came up behind Ron to greet her. Harry had told Hermione that, two days after the reunion, Ron had returned to Grimmauld Place wearing a dazed grin and the same clothes he had been wearing that night in Hogsmead. His hair messily ruffled, Harry heard him mumble something about “freaky Hufflepuffs” and “candlewax” as he headed for the shower.

A week later, Harry, who had been kept awake by the animalistic cries of sexual release coming from his roommate’s room, ran into Susan rummaging through the cabinets for a late morning snack. Ron and Susan had been together ever since. Just last year, Pansy moved into Grimmauld as Ron moved out to live with Susan. These monthly game nights were an excuse to bring everyone together.

Hermione looked around again. Harry, Pansy, Ron, Susan, her, and…Draco. “Is it just us?”

Pansy swept by, motioning everyone to the dining room. “Neville and Luna had babysitter issues, alas. They promise to make the next one.” She gave a light flick of her wand to open the wine and began pouring.

“And Blaise is in Italy.” Hermione caught the small smile Pansy tried to hide.

“And where is Ginny?” A slight inflection gave away Hermione’s barely suppressed hope.

Pansy’s eyes glittered with intrigue. “Also Italy.” Her smile settled into a knowing smirk.

Hermione gasped excitedly. “Tell me this means what I think it means!”

Ron cleared his throat. “Yes, it seems my sister continues to have questionable taste in men.”

“Oh pish posh, Weasley,” Pansy waved off his lighthearted judgement and handed him a glass of wine. “You know as well as I do that those two were miserable without each other.”

Hermione agreed and was momentarily distracted from her own awkward romantic entanglement suffocating the room to feel genuine happiness for her friend. Ginny had gone through an impressive roster of Quidditch stars over the last few years, but none of them lasted longer than four or five months. (“No one lights me up the way Blaise did, you know? I just want to feel that spark again,” Ginny had told Hermione over one of their regularly scheduled floo calls. Hermione, of course, silently understood exactly what Ginny had meant.) When Ginny was traded back to London, part of Hermione wondered how long it would take for her to reconnect with Blaise. About two months, it seems.

“Everyone, sit! Dinner is ready,” Pansy shuffled around as everyone found their seats. Hermione realized the only spot was inconveniently located across from Draco.

She pulled out her chair and found his eyes for a brief moment before forcing out a “Hi.”

_Hi_. She hadn’t seen this gorgeous, intelligent, sexy man in three years and all she can say is fucking Hi. He nodded and croaked out a “Granger” in acknowledgment. His eyes, so guarded until now, flashed hot silver for a moment.

When they sat, he leaned in toward her slightly as if to say something else, but then Pansy cleared her throat to draw the table’s attention.

“Draco, where is Astoria tonight? I think you were about to tell us when Hermione came in.”

Four pairs of eyes turned innocently to Draco for his response. But Hermione’s eyes found the patternwork on the china in front of her suddenly fascinating. Her breath had unnervingly become shallower. She focused intently on not making any move or sound that would remind anyone else she was there at all.

She had heard he was dating Astoria, of course. She still subscribed to Witch Weekly and the Prophet—they made her feel a bit more connected to home—and you couldn’t turn a page without seeing Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass jaunting all over wizarding London. She had quelled her initial surge of jealousy by telling herself that Astoria was just a rebound. A quick, nothing rebound. But then six months, eight months went by, and the photos still appeared. When Hermione realized it might actually be serious, she entered a regrettable and hectic phase of dance floor makeouts and one-night stands. This was the period of time when she realized Witch Weekly kept tabs on her in America too, unfortunately.

She had been eager to return to London and finally be in one place, her home, for a while. But the thought of running into Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass when she least expected it gnawed at her insides. She shamefully realized that she had, somewhere in the back of her mind, held onto the silly belief that Draco would be waiting at the other end of her owl when she returned after three years away. Order of Moron, First Class.

Around her, she felt the silence in the room grow awkward. Was it her? Was it because they know, somehow, that she is a huge idiot?

Then she heard Draco clear his throat and the chair creak as he sat up a bit straighter. She saw nervous movement out of her periphery. Fidgeting is the term she would characterize it, if Draco Malfoy ever fidgeted.

“Uh, well,” Draco began. At the edge of her vision, she saw him reach for his drink like a life preserver. “Astoria and I have decided to explore other romantic opportunities.”

Hermione couldn’t help it, but her head shot up, eyes alight with surprise. Her heart felt slightly less constricted. He took a sip—a gulp, really—of wine before his eyes found hers. He looked…sad.

Oh. _Oh_. So it had been serious. Hermione selfishly wondered if he had looked this sad after she left for America.

“You broke up? When?” Pansy’s social etiquette training had clearly ended before the lesson on how not to probe your friend’s heartbreak in front of an audience. That, or this gossip was too juicy to delay.

Draco took another gulp. “Last week.” His voice was clipped, as if silently telling Pansy to drop it.

Even Ron—Ron!—felt compelled to help save Draco from Pansy’s continued interrogation.

“Well look at the bright side, mate. At least you won’t be tied down in time for Harry’s bachelor party next month!”

Susan knocked him in ribs with a well-deserved, “And what is that supposed to mean?” The nervous laughter around the table eased some of the tension.

Over the sound of Ron cooing “No of course I didn’t mean you baby” to Susan, Harry tried his hand at deflecting.

“So, Hermione, did you bring one of your blokes home with you or did you leave them all in America?”

Hermione’s face grew hot and probably very red—either from embarrassment or from the fact she was now choking on her wine.

* * *

The tension in Draco’s body changed. At first on high alert as he navigated Pansy’s questions about his relationship status in front of _her_. And now code red, all hands on deck. His eyes bored into Hermione’s red face as she composed herself to answer Harry’s question. _Yes, Granger, did you bring any one of your many blokes back? Pray tell._

He knew in the back of his mind that this reaction was unfair. He had been in an actual committed relationship for more than year. A doomed relationship that lasted entirely too long, but still, his subconscious is aware of how this jealousy looks.

But fuck, he thought, as he watched her throat bob up and down as she drank a glass of water. He could still feel the way those muscles on her neck vibrated under his lips when she moaned. _This_ was why his relationship with Astoria had been doomed. He can’t for the life of him summon the memory of what Astoria's throat felt like at all. Did she even have one? He was sure she did, and yet—

“It wasn’t nearly that many blokes, Harry!” Her voice was still (deliciously) hoarse from the coughing fit. The way it would sound after he had made her scream.

Fuck. This evening was going to be brutal.

He heard chuckles around the table. “Come on, Granger, you single-handedly staffed up Witch Weekly’s America office while you were over there.” Pansy raised her eyebrows, finding another source of her gossip interrogation skills.

“Well, that’s hardly fair…” Hermione began. She blushed, the little minx.

“I’m not judging,” Pansy interrupted. “I’m jealous! All those handsome American men wrapped around your little finger.”

“Hey!” Harry lightheartedly protested.

“Oh, Potter, don’t worry. My sensibilities are terribly British.” She reached her hand out to lovingly bop Harry on his nose. Draco was delighted that Pansy found someone that entertains and fulfills her of course, but this loving, tender side of her was still something to get used to.

“Well, if you MUST know,” Hermione sat up straighter and reached for her wine again. She probably didn’t notice that her eyes had flicked to Draco’s for a fraction of a second. But Draco noticed. “I didn’t meet anyone of note while I was in America.”

“What about that brunette with the strong jaw?” Pansy was like a horny dog with a bone.

Hermione scoffed. “He thought Africa was a country.”

“The shaggy-haired son of the MACUSA President?”

“Didn’t understand why I was quote ‘wasting my time’ on magical creature rights.”

“What about Goldstein? Did I read that he visited you last year?”

At the mention of Anthony Goldstein, Draco’s entire body went rigid. He had seen the spread in Witch Weekly, the headline still emblazoned in his mind. _Goldstein and Golden Girl Rekindle Romance Across the Pond_. He had called Blaise that day and requested a pub crawl like they had done just after Hogwarts—before Blaise had been ensnared by the youngest Weasley and became socially useless. (Still a dear friend to Draco, though!) Blaise, increasingly desperate to rid himself of Ginny’s pull at the time, agreed. Draco ran into Astoria at the second pub and for a fleeting drunk moment didn’t think about Hermione Granger at all. He held onto that moment with Astoria for too long.

If he wasn’t sitting relatively close to her, he didn’t know if he would have heard it. The strangled, frustrated groan Hermione gave before answering Pansy’s question.

“Anthony, in general, was never really quick on the uptake.” Her eyes flicked to his and the fire in his veins raged a bit less. “I thought we were meeting up as friends, long-time acquaintances. He,” she hesitated. “He had other ideas, which were swiftly dismissed.”

A slight smirk appeared on her lips and she took a sip of her wine, eyes locking now with his. “He’s an idiot.”

Draco laughed quietly—was this giggling? Was he _giggling_? Goldstein was such a twat. Then his laughter stopped as he realized that he, too, was _such_ a fucking twat. Of course she didn’t get back together with Goldstein! How could he have ever convinced himself that was true?

The rest of the dinner conversation slid to more neutral territory. Hermione listened intently as Draco described how Neville’s parents were part of a key trial phase on his anti-Cruciatus potion and they hoped to market it more widely in the next few years. Draco was eager to hear about the new organization Hermione was starting to crackdown on the horrific increase in trafficking of magical creatures across borders.

Despite how desperately Draco wanted to talk to Hermione alone and clear the air between them, there wasn’t an inconspicuous way to pull her aside. He settled for staring at her compulsively and running his eyes along her features, checking to see if everything aligned with his still vibrant memories. Her eyes found his too, probably too often. When he would reluctantly turn his attention elsewhere, he would find Pansy staring at him at the end of the table with narrowed eyes.

Then, Pansy cleared the table with a flick of her wand and, with another flick, laid out _Taboo: Magic Edition_.

“I didn’t know they had a Magic Edition,” Hermione said as she poured herself another glass of wine.

“It’s great because they combine both muggle and magic terms in the deck,” Harry said as he began setting up the hourglass and cards. “You haven’t lived until you have seen Ron try to get his partner to say ‘airplane.’” The table roared with laughter at the memory.

“I must have zoned out during the Transportation unit in Muggle Studies,” Ron chuckled.

“Ok quick overview,” Pansy’s clear voice cut through the laughter. “You have one minute to go through as many cards as possible. Each card has a word at the top that you have to get your partner to say, but you can’t use any of the obvious words listed below the main word. Time to get creative if you have to!”

Ron and Susan prepared themselves to go first. The choice to split pairs along couple lines struck Draco as a dangerous move. Taboo was about effective communication between partners. If you didn’t perform well as a team at Taboo, what did it say about your relationship? But the two actual couples at the table seemed unbothered by the implications.

After a scandalously revealing round where Susan successfully got Ron to bashfully say “swing” with the clue, “my favorite prop,” the couple had a modest three cards in their win pile. Harry and Pansy finished with a more respectable five, though the table groaned at a few gimme cards in their stack (“scar” and “eyes,” as in “his mother’s…”).

As play passed to Hermione and Draco, Pansy spoke for the table when she said, “This should be interesting.”

Draco readied himself for the clues. By silent agreement, Hermione would give the clues first and Draco would try to figure out the word. They looked at each other just before Harry turned the hourglass over, eyes glowing with the mutual thrill of competition. His heart raced as he remembered yet another thing he loved about this witch: a competitive nature that could keep up with his own.

“Ready?” Harry’s hand slowly turned the hourglass. “Go!”

Hermione deftly turned over the first card and he saw her beautiful mind work quickly.

“My favorite place,” Hermione grinned knowingly up at him. The rest of the players groaned.

“Library.”

Complaints of “too easy” and “come on!” circled around the table, but Draco and Hermione focused only on each other.

“Your favorite fruit.”

“Apple.”

(The nature of the complaints shifted to confusion. “How did she know that…?”)

“The class you wish you bested me in.”

“Potions.”

“Singular.”

“Potion.”

She flipped the next card and smiled.

“You perfected a potion for it.”

“Cruciatus curse.”

She flipped the next card and her cheeks reddened slightly.

“Sometimes a location for 7 Minutes in Heaven.” He could see her trying to hold back her smile.

“Closet.”

She flipped the next card and what had been a slight color to her cheeks turned into deep red. She could tell him in great detail where and how she wanted his cock, but this innocent word made her blush? Adorable.

“Sometimes has white tiles.”

An image of her wet brown hair sticking to white tiles flashed into his memory and he, too, could feel his face get hot.

“Shower.”

The intensity of their eye contact, originally a necessity for the game of course, darkened.

She flipped the next card. Her eyes softened for a moment.

“When Harry Met Sally is a blank.”

“Movie.”

A flutter in his stomach as he remembered being curled up with her that night.

She flipped the next card and he could see whatever the word was startled her. He glanced at the disappearing sand in the hourglass. “Granger?”

She recovered quickly, but when she looked at him, he saw three years of sadness and frustration.

“Not ‘crying,’ but…”

He choked on the word as it came out.

“Dust.”

And then the sound of the buzzer surrounded them.

* * *

Hermione emerged from her game-induced trance to look around the table. Harry and Ron had twin expressions of confused shock, while Pansy and Susan exchanged knowing smirks. Uncomfortable with the eerie silence, she counted up the cards and proudly displayed their winning pile. “Eight correct answers. Not bad, Draco.”

He smiled at her, something he could no longer stop doing, it seemed. “I had a good partner. The best, actually.”

Hermione felt her entire body flush, inside and out, at the statement. Did he mean…?

“Pansy, Potter, thank you for hosting such a lovely evening,” Draco’s attention flashed to the rest of the table momentarily before turning back to Hermione. “But I am afraid I must get going.”

A pang—no, a lightning bolt—of disappointment hit Hermione square in the chest. The rest of the guests took his queue and began gathering their things. As Draco shrugged gracefully into his coat, Hermione felt her thighs quiver as she imagined taking it, and the rest of his clothes, right back off of him.

But then his eyes flashed at her, communicating in their non-verbal language. “Granger, can I walk you out?”

Three years of bottled up anticipation hit her all at once. Her poor knickers.

“Yes, thank you,” was all she could breathe out as she tried not to rush to the door. In their haste, they didn’t see the glances exchanged by the other guests that indicated a torrent of gossip and commentary would occur as soon as they closed the door behind them.

As Draco pulled the door shut behind him, Hermione slipped her hand in his and authoritatively said “You’re coming home with me, Malfoy.”

* * *

When they landed in her flat, still filled with unpacked boxes and artless walls, Draco pulled her close to him and whispered admiringly down to her, “You’re still such a bossy swot.”

“You love it,” she smiled teasingly up at him. His voice, his words, his touch. It all felt like three years had never happened.

His features hardened and he looked at her intensely, trying to convey the seriousness of his words.

“I do.”

Her heart fluttered and before she could think better of it, said the words that had been running through her head all night. Every night for three years.

“I missed you so much, Draco.”

His forehead fell against hers and his eyes closed. “I told myself every day that I didn’t miss you, but I was never able to convince myself that was true.”

“But Astoria…”

“Astoria was a casualty of my self-delusion,” Draco sighed and pulled away slightly. Hermione immediately regretted saying anything that would put physical distance between them. He ran a hand down his face. “I knew we didn’t fit, but I also couldn’t bear dating around like I had before. She wasn’t too demanding, which worked for me. But then she started dropping hints about a proposal. I knew it wasn’t fair to her.”

Then he was closer to her again, his thumb was stroking her cheek. “Once you taste perfection, Granger, nothing else will do.”

Her body turned into warm butter and she melted against him. She realized how lost she had felt, floating around without him in her life. Hearing the sentiment that she had been unable to articulate for three years made her feel like she’d been given a compass, her direction clear. She felt _found_.

She reached her hand up behind his neck and whispered against his lips, “I know what you mean.”

When their lips and tongues met, it felt like the last puzzle piece sliding into place, the combination lock clicking open when the dial finds the last number in its code. It felt right. Complete.

Hermione walked them back to her bedroom, discarding clothing like breadcrumbs along the way. By the time she fell back on her mattress, their underthings were the only pieces of fabric left.

Before Draco crawled on top of her—oh how she longed to feel his weight on her again—he took in the sight of her and chuckled to himself when he saw her characteristically lacy knickers.

“Granger, have I ever told you how absolutely devious your choice in undergarments is?” She noted with satisfaction that his erection was already straining against his briefs.

Her eyes flashed with the same intensity they had had during Taboo. “You mean, not ‘cotton,’ but…”

“Lace, yes.” His eyes darkened and she sighed as he settled himself on top of her.

He kissed over the lacy edge of her bra and up along the straps and over to _that_ place on her neck. He growled when he heard her moan, a sound that had haunted him every night for years. Now it sent warmth flowing through every vein in his body. He needed more.

“You know,” he whispered into her ear, his hand caressing over body, lingering over her nipple before heading south. “When you said ‘white tile,’ tonight, I got so hard thinking about your soaking body pressed up against your shower stall that night.” His hands grazed lightly over the top band of her knickers. “I could barely speak.”

Her hips lifted slightly, as if magnetically connected to his touch. His hand slid beneath the lace and he dipped one finger in. He bit his lip to reel in his arousal. He wanted to savor this.

He moved to look her directly in her eyes.

“The word I am thinking of is, not ‘dry,’ but…”

“Wet,” she breathed.

He kissed her below her ear to reward her for her correct answer. “So wet for me.”

She whimpered as he slowly slid his finger around her opening and up to her clit.

Her eyes refocused on his and she said, with effort, “Not ‘finger,’ but…” And then her eyes flicked to his mouth and she licked her lips.

“Tongue.” His mouth watered.

She nodded as his body slid down hers, kissing and nipping along the way. She was squirming with years of unmet need, desperate for the kind of release only he could give her, as he slowly slid her lace knickers down her legs. Her hands had been poor substitutes when the memories of his tongue stroking her to orgasm gripped her in the middle of a lonely night.

And when she felt it again—the slightly cool, textured swipe of his wet tongue along her dripping folds—she nearly screamed at the joy of feeling something you never thought you would feel again.

His tongue took its time rediscovering her. Tracing the length of her seam, dipping inside to reach as deep as he could, and finally, circling her clit like a snake slithering around its prey. He felt intoxicated, drunk on the taste of her, the smell of her, the sound of her.

By the time he inserted a finger to curl around her inner depths, she was close. He could tell by the erratic shaking of her thighs and the increasing volume of her moans. He sucked hard on her clit and felt her break open. He would never get tired of hearing her scream his name that loud or clench around his finger this tight.

“Well it seems like the word to describe that is not ‘bad,’ but…” he prompted as he crawled back up her body, stopping to pull her bra cups down and run his tongue across her nipples.

“Fucking fantastic.”

“Correct.” She felt his smirk against her skin.

She luxuriated under the weight of him and ran her hands over his taut muscles. She had her release, but now she needed _him_. She needed the delicious stretch, the wicked movement, of _him_.

She brought his face to hers and she kissed him. Slow and intense, a simmering cauldron raising the heat between them. When they broke apart, her eyes flamed with need. She swept her hand down his body and under the elastic band of his briefs, where her fingers gripped around his thick, hard length. He groaned and kept his darkening eyes locked to hers. Tears nearly sprang to her eyes as she remembered how he felt, a feeling she had chased unsuccessfully for three years.

“Don’t make me wait any longer.” She stroked him down to his base and back up to his tip to accentuate her point.

He made quick movements to remove his briefs and position himself at her entrance. He found her eyes again and they exchanged more in that look than anything that could be captured in the English language. How do you describe the look of finally finding what you spent eight years searching for? Neither of them knew when exactly their fingers had become entwined.

As Draco pushed forward, both felt the exhale of relief, peace, knowing that their years of wandering were done. They had found it—home.

Hermione arched her back and moaned as she felt him bottom out inside of her. Emotionally, physically, she had never felt anyone touch every single inch of her. They rocked their hips in coordinated movement, their bodies understanding a language no one else knew.

Draco thought he might die of bliss. The way her walls gripped around him, like they had spent every day of the last few years missing the feel of his cock and were so relieved he had returned. His thrusts came faster and harder, spurred on by the screams of the writhing witch beneath him.

They came apart and collapsed together, the pieces of each of them waiting to be reformed into a new whole.

After they had spent several minutes silently reveling in the feel of their bodies entwined once again, Draco propped himself on his arm and looked down at Hermione with a mischievous grin.

“I’m thinking of two words. The first one is not ‘divorce,’ but..”

“Marry?”

“The second is not ‘you,’ but…”

“Me?”

Draco grinned like a cat that had gotten the cream. “Why, Granger, I thought you would never ask. My answer is yes.” He kissed her mouth, now open slightly in shock.

Hermione shook her surprise away and looked at him seriously, “Draco, are you serious? What are you saying?”

His lips lingered in a smile, but his eyes gained an intensity that told her, _I’ve never been more serious in my life_.

“A wise man once said, ‘When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’”

She smiled in recognition and her eyes shined, glistening with tears and hope. “How do you remember lines from a movie that we watched three years ago?”

He laughed but his cheeks pinked slightly in embarrassment. “I told you. It was a touching story,” his eyes fluttered away bashfully. “And I may have watched it a few more times while you were gone.”

She laughed loudly now, the movement dislodging the tears so that they now flowed freely down her cheeks.

“I love you,” she said easily, as if it was just simple fact, not an admission with life-changing emotional implications.

The words were out in response before he had any time to register the fact that this was the first time he had ever said these words to anyone else. “I love you, too.”

“On the marriage thing,” she smiled at him with the glint of challenge he had become familiar with over all these years. “I’m game if you are.”

He barked out a laugh.

“I’m definitely game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought this was gonna be Truth or Dare, didn't you? ;)
> 
> Sorry I was tardy on my update - life, work, additional editing, all the traditional excuses! I hope you like how this story ends. Let me know what you think!
> 
> To everyone who left kudos or commented and read along, thank you! I know your time is precious and there are literally thousands and thousands of other works to read. It means a lot that you gave a bit of your time and attention to this story.


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